


The Question

by Calvi_sama, Rapscallion



Series: Answered [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapscallion/pseuds/Rapscallion





	The Question

The strangest part of all of it was waking up to the same people and places every day. Well, that and the realization that when he ate meals regularly, his body came to expect them. Vincent recognized the feeling of hunger for the first time two weeks after following Cid back. Walking into the kitchen led him into the smell of sweet syrup and something warm that his senses remembered but his mind couldn't name immediately.

Shera was up and about, and Vincent wondered just what Cid would have to say about that. In fact, he wondered where Cid was at all. Usually the man was eager as anything to greet him in the morning, and if he wasn't around, then he had probably gone off somewhere.

"Good morning, Vincent. How did you sleep?" Shera asked him, her voice so much stronger than it had been the last time he'd seen her months ago.

"Well enough," Vincent lied. He still didn't sleep, no matter which room or surface he tried. He'd had to work quite hard to convince Cid to stop staying up with him at first.

If Cid was gone, then Vincent had probably said or done something to make him go. Things like that happened a lot, and Vincent was never really sure about the cause.

Sometimes he thought he might be stepping on Cid's toes or wounding his pride. Pride was something the pilot had in plenty, and Vincent couldn't tell if his offer to help with cleaning up the night before had offended Cid somehow. Then again, maybe it had been something else entirely, something to do with Vincent in slightly more casual clothing with his long sleeves rolled up and something approaching a smile on his face. That had been when Cid had gotten what Vincent thought of as 'the look' on his face. The look happened when Vincent did something out of his normal set of behaviors or when one of their actions brought them exceptionally close together. Vincent could probably make more sense of it if he stopped trying to ignore it, but it felt like something that was more complicated than he could handle.

"Cid didn't take a job without me, did he?" Vincent asked, rolling up his sleeves again and immediately beginning to clean the dishes Shera had discarded in the sink.

Shera laughed, a bright sound in the small kitchen. “I don't think so,” she said with a wide smile as she gently removed the spatula from Vincent's hand before it could make it into the sink. “I still need that, Vincent,” she whispered with a wink.

It had been rough at first when Cid had come home with the announcement that they would be acquiring a third housemate with Vincent hard on his heels. Shera's eyes had widened and she'd dropped the teapot that she had been carrying. Vincent Valentine was more ghost to her than a real person and he was rather intimidating, particularly that gauntleted arm. She had winced and immediately crouched to pick it up, an apology already prepared on her lips when Cid had stopped her downward movement and helped her to stand back up. “'S all right Sher, let it be,” he had said and she'd almost fallen down. She had been convinced that something had happened to Cid after he had so suddenly disappeared.

“Who are you and what have you done with the captain?” she'd blurted and instead of the expected string of curses, Cid had actually laughed, baffling her even more.

“Oh 'e's still here, woman,” he'd said, a mischievous glint in his eyes that she hadn't found very intimidating at all, but instead welcome and pulling a hesitant smile from her. “I jus' gotta watch m'self now there's a Turk in th' house.” He'd winked at her, and from that day forward everything had changed.

Vincent had seemed uncomfortable at first, not really talking and keeping to himself, sometimes disappearing to who knew where, but Cid had finally managed to get the gunman in the house and as he began to relax, Shera had found his company to be really quite pleasant. Vincent had gone from surly and brooding to thoughtful and rather philosophical. He was turning out to be quite willing to help around the house and even seemed to become somewhat distressed if kept from doing tasks, no matter how menial. And Cid... Cid was a different man. He seemed younger, somehow, less stressed out and more willing to talk and joke and less temperamental, less... grumpy.

“He said something about having to run into town for a minute but not to wait on him for breakfast. How many pancakes would you like, Vincent?”

If dishes didn't need washing, then Vincent wasn't sure what to do. He stood awkwardly beside Shera as he watched her fiddle with the batter and the skillet. Having someone else cook for him specifically was still a bit off-putting. He had hunted his own for so long on the rare occasion that he'd needed to replenish nutrients in his body

"One?" he asked at first, testing to see if Shera would give him some kind of cue as to the right answer. He watched her work, smelling the sweet flavor, and changed his mind without help. "Two. Two should be perfect."

“Light eater!” Shera teased gently. “Two it is!” She ladled out the batter onto the griddle. “Cid always ends up eating five or six. I swear, the captain has a bottomless stomach!” She was in a good mood today and hummed softly while she watched the slowly bubbling batter. Shera slid the spatula under one of the cakes and peeked under it only to lay it back down when she saw it wasn't quite golden brown yet. “So Vincent, I haven't gotten a chance to ask you since you've arrived, but if I may, why did you come back with the captain?” She checked another one in a similar fashion then laid it back down. “Not that I mind, I enjoy having you here, but I had always assumed you had preferred your own company.”

"It's a fair question," Vincent conceded, ducking his head. "I'm afraid your guess at my answer is just as good as any answer I could give you." He didn't know, really, just what had made him make the decision. "I suppose that when I grow tired of my own company, there's no one more unlike me than Cid. He makes a refreshing change."

And he had seemed to need something from Vincent, which was a rare thing, and Vincent hadn't been able to ignore that even if he didn't know entirely what the thing was. He also didn't know that Shera needed to know that part. "I imagine it's not too different from the reason you still choose to stay with him." That was more than a little presumptuous, and Vincent instantly wished he could take back the words. He didn't know Shera's reasons, and for all he knew, she was madly in love with Cid and would have loved a marriage proposal.

Selfishly, Vincent hoped that wasn't true. He hoped that she stayed only because it was comfortable and because she was one of the people Cid wanted to care for. "Then again, perhaps very different. Who can say?"

Shera shrugged good-naturedly. “I suppose I stay because I've come to care very deeply for Cid,” She said thoughtfully. “At first I stayed because of the guilt that I felt for robbing him of his dream. I had pledged to myself to stay with him and help him realize it again and somewhere along the way I suppose I grew to love him.” Shera flipped first one pancake then the other and laughed again. “The gods know the captain isn't an easy man to get along with, what with his temper!” As the pancakes sizzled she closed an eye and peered at Vincent out of the other while she waggled the spatula at the gunman. “He's very particular, Mr. Valentine, and can be quite prickly when things aren't done his way.”

"I know that," Vincent answered. "Quite well." How many times had he heard Cid go off on crewmembers or even members of their group? Vincent watched her flip the pancakes and wondered if he would ever be able to cook or clean with much effectiveness. Maybe with practice, but between Cid and Shera, he wasn't going to get very much of that. "How particular is he about his pancakes, then?" he asked, half-smiling.

Shera beamed at him. “Why Mr. Valentine! What a lovely smile you have! You should really do it more often.” She clucked, flipping the pancakes onto a plate. She handed the plate to the tall man. “Here you are, two as requested. Now go have a seat and dig in before they get cold!” Shera began to pour more batter onto the skillet, carefully keeping an eye on the viscous liquid to make sure she didn't splatter any. “They have to be a certain color, too dark and he fusses, too light and he fusses. Then there's the diameter of each one...” she paused after pouring one cake to push her glasses back up her nose. “... exactly 10 centimeters all the way around... there we are! There are the first three.” Shera said proudly, blowing a strand of hair out of her face from the corner of her mouth.

Three? How many would the man eat? "Won't he be upset if they're cold?" He'd been under the impression that Shera was going to eat with him, but if she had made Vincent's pancakes and then Cid's, then maybe she didn't plan to eat at all, or at least not until they were both done. But Cid wasn't even in the house, so that might be a long wait. "You should have these, so you don't have to wait for him. I can make my own. You should rest."

“Oh nonsense!” Shera said breathlessly. “I'll fix mine after I finish the captain’s other three pancakes. For some reason he doesn't mind eating them cold, but he should be home any minute and I'd prefer them to be ready for him when he does.”

Vincent frowned. "He doesn't still yell at you for things like that, does he?" He hadn't heard anything like that since moving in, but maybe that had been only for his benefit. He and Cid would have to exchange words over his treatment of Shera if that nonsense had continued.

“Oh no, no, no!” Shera said quickly. “The captain’s gotten so much better since he's met all of you! Really, Vincent, he's like a different person, he's... happy, again. Cid's always been gruff, but until recently he never really used to smile.” She carefully flipped each of the last three pancakes. “ShinRa really took the joy out of everything for him and then when they betrayed and lied to him about the space program?” She lowered her head. “He had a lot of anger, Vincent, you have to remember that.”

Vincent understood that, too, but he didn't think he needed to tell Shera as much. The past was, ultimately, in the past, and even Vincent had grown tired lately of living there. "I forget sometimes that you knew him before." Someday he might ask what Cid was like back then, but then again, he might learn for himself if he stayed around. Vincent still didn't eat, because Shera didn't have food yet. It would be rude, given that she'd cooked for him.

When Cid's pancakes were finished, Shera poured a couple for herself, cooking them in silence. She figured Vincent would probably rather eat without the distraction of her nattering. When they were done, she placed them on a plate and headed for the table, stopping suddenly when she saw Vincent's uneaten food. “What's wrong, Vincent, do you not like them?” she asked, afraid that she had offended the gunman somehow.

"I thought I would wait so you wouldn't have to eat alone," he said, inclining his head briefly. "If Cid can eat cold pancakes, so can I. Please, sit and eat with me." Shera was definitely a strange woman, and the time he'd spent in their house had shown Vincent that she and Cid suited each other in a certain way. Perhaps he'd been wrong to tell Cid not to marry her. Then again, he reflected, thinking on the way that many things seemed to suit Cid, perhaps not.

“Thank you, Vincent, I shall,” Shera said, giving the gunman another smile. She sat softly and carefully arranged the plate and utensils in front of her before placing the simple napkin in her lap and picking up knife and fork. “There's syrup there, in front of you if you like. I prefer mine plain, sometimes with a bit of butter.” Shera began cutting the small stack of pancakes.

Syrup. It had to be worth a shot, but he didn't want to drown the pancakes in it and waste all of the effort Shera had put into making them taste good. He put just a little on the side of his plate, frowning as it ran toward the center and soaked into the fluffy cakes. He added a little more, watched the same thing happen, and then decided to let it be and start eating. He mimicked the way Shera cut her pancakes, and was very surprised to find that the pancake on the bottom was soggy and reluctant to stay together. One bite into it proved that the syrup had, in fact, soaked directly into the pancake. Interesting. Vincent thought he preferred them without, but he didn't bother to say so, just kept eating in silence until he had to take a break from chewing. "These are very good, Shera. Thank you for breakfast."

As she ate, Shera watched Vincent's face. It really was quite expressive when he wasn't working so hard to keep it expressionless. She giggled when he cut into his pancake and discovered the syrup soaked cake underneath.

Outside, Cid stood at the door and watched the two people he cared about the most enjoying a meal together. It warmed him, and he thought that never had there ever been a more beautiful sight. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt. Cid's eyes kept traveling back to Vincent's face and he sighed as the tightness in his chest clenched. Finally, he had had enough and, clearing his throat, pushed noisily into the kitchen. “Mornin'!” he said brightly. “I see yer all up 'n movin'! What's fer breakfast?” Although he already knew. It had been his idea after all.

"Cold pancakes," Vincent said simply, sharing a look with Shera. "They might have been warm if you'd gotten here sooner."

“Hey-hey now!” Cid said defensively. “That ain't fair, Vince! I had somewhere I needed t'be an' I told Sher not t' wait on me. S' your own fault if your eatin' 'em cold!” He eyed Shera. “Ya did tell 'im t' eat didn't 'cha?”

Shera nodded, forking another bit of pancake into her mouth. “I did, but he insisted we wait on you.”

“Ya did?” Cid asked, looking at Vincent, startled.

"It's polite, that's all." Vincent looked over to Cid, trying and failing to read the expression on his face. "Errand all taken care of?" Not that it mattered. There was hardly ever anything to do for Vincent during the day.

“H'yep!” Cid walked over and grabbed his plate, then sank down onto a chair across from Vincent. He began to cut the pancake stack with his fork, then drenching it syrup before sticking a large forkful into his mouth. “Had t' run t' th' shop.” Cid said around the mouthful. “They had a couple'a parts in that I had ordered. Say Vince, ya got any plans t'day? I thought I'd teach ya a little somethin' 'bout airships.” He winked at his friend and Shera smiled understandingly.

Cid was hardly ever polite, by common definitions, yet his manners didn't bother Vincent very much. That didn't mean that Vincent would be the next one speaking with his mouth full, but it was Cid's home, and he could do whatever he liked. It was oddly refreshing to know that Cid was every bit as rough around the edges as he advertised.

Vincent had never had much interest in flight or mechanics, but then, any interests he had possessed were long fled from him, forgotten in the face of his inability to pursue them. Perhaps he'd rediscover them now, if he left his mind open for learning. If that meant learning about Cid-things first, Vincent was sure he could handle it. "I don't have any plans," he said simply, sipping from his glass of water and watching Cid over the rim of it.

Cid loved it when Vincent watched him like that; the way those matchless red eyes glittered in the light and the sharp focus they had that reminded him of a bird of prey somehow. Briefly, he wondered what it would feel like to have that gaze on him when he was naked. A soft giggle to his right made his face flush and he cleared his throat, breaking eye contact with Vincent and resuming the energetic consumption of his stack of pancakes. “Well good, then. We'll finish up here 'n head out t' th' shop!”

By now, Shera was laughing. “I'll clean up here. You two boys go have... fun.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously and Cid nearly choked on a mouthful of pancake.

“Oi! Watch what yer sayin' woman!” Cid exclaimed, pointing at her with his sticky fork. “Got half a mind t' turn ya over m'knee fer that!”

With effort, Shera got herself under control and covered her mouth with her slender hand as she continued to giggle silently. Cid was momentarily struck by how lovely she appeared at that moment. “That's right!” he said indignantly. “Hush up.” Cid resumed eating, grumbling under his breath.

Vincent, having no idea what had transpired between his two friends, just kept working at his pancakes until the plate was empty. When Cid had also finished his food, it wasn't long before the pilot was leading him out to the workshop.

"Are you really only leading me out here to help you carry in your new parts?" It sounded like something Cid would do.

Cid had the good sense to look a little guilty. “Well, I _had_ kinda hoped t' get yer help, but that wasn't th' only reason I asked ya out here.” He stopped in front of the closed door of the hangar. Until now, Vincent hadn't really shown much interest in coming out to his workshop and Cid took particular excited pride in his friend finally giving in. “I wanted t' show ya somethin'.” Cid hooked his hands into the handles of the massive door, waggled his eyebrows at Vincent and grinned before throwing his weight against metal door. With a groan the hangar door slid open, admitting a shaft of light that grew wider as Cid kept walking the door back until it came to the end of its track with a clang.

He walked back to stand by Vincent's side. “Look at 'er Vince!” Cid said reverently as the dark hulk of the _Shera_ was revealed. “I'm still workin' on 'er, but she's comin' along real nice. Makin' some improvements that'll make 'er state 'o th' art!” Cid stepped into the hangar and held his arms out, looking back at Vincent with pride. “She's amazin' Vince! I know y'all only ever saw her th' once, but... this baby makes th' _Highwind_ look old 'n crippled!”

"I don't know," Vincent said, feeling skeptical. The new ship was definitely sleeker and perhaps more dependable, its pieces and parts more modern and more smoothly crafted. It had all sorts of features that the _Highwind_ couldn't dream of, it flew faster and further on less fuel, and still... "I think _Highwind_ will always be my favorite." Even so, Vincent couldn't help but feel a little curious about what improvements Cid might make to a ship that already had him raving. "So what's going to be the main attraction?"

Cid grinned slowly. “A large captain's captain with an oversized bed,” he said.  He couldn't resist.  “Wanna go test it with me?” Cid waggled his eyebrows at Vincent. 

"I just woke up," Vincent answered, blinking. He didn't see the use in an oversized bed at all, given that he barely used the space on the bed Cid had given him. "And that hardly seems like the kind of feature that most people will find noteworthy." He'd been expecting something about improved homing missiles or rocket power, something that Cid could brag about for long minutes at a time. 

“Uh,” Cid said, laughing uncertainly and rubbing the back of his neck with a rough hand. He should have known that Vincent's sense of humor was one of the things that hadn't gotten better since staying in one place. “Right, well, I was just kiddin' ya know. Here, lemme show ya what I have planned,” Cid waved Vincent inside and entered the hangar first, lighting a cigarette as he went. He always worked better when he was smoking. Cid gestured to the port side of the vessel. “Ya see there, up near th' engine output? That's where I'm gonna attach a cargo bay.  See, th' ship's made fer fightin', you c'n tell by how streamlined she is and the weapons mounts there, there and there,” he pointed to each bracing in turn. Cid took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling a stream of blue-gray smoke and cleared his throat. “But she ain't equipped fer haulin' anything. Now I ain't fixin' t' make 'er a cargo vessel, I got th' _Highwind_ fer that, but a ship's pretty damn useless if it can't carry somethin'.”  Cid pointed over to the far corner of the hangar where a rough skeleton of steel was coming together. “I've got it started over there. Been kinda slow goin' since it's mostly on m'own, but I'll get 'er there. Thinkin' 'bout takin' on some help from town. So what'd'ya think?” He asked, eyeing Vincent expectantly. 

Vincent truly didn't know what to say or how he should respond.  Cid was clearly excited, and Vincent did want to show support.  He walked around the perimeter of the ship a ways, appraising.  "If it won't interfere with her performance, it would be a very useful addition," he agreed, reaching out to run his hand over the smooth wall of the vessel.  He hadn't spent so much time without at least gloves on in years, and it was strange, sometimes, to touch things and be able to feel them with both whole hands.  He pressed both to the ship, just to feel, and looked at Cid through a wayward curtain of hair.  "If anyone can keep her all-around functional, it's you."

 _Now ain't that the most beautiful damn thing a man ever saw?_   Cid thought, letting his eyes travel freely up and down Vincent's long, lean form.  Watching Vincent run his hands over the hull of the ship, it was far, _far_ too easy to imagine those hands running over his body instead and Cid shivered.  He stared for quite a while before shaking his head abruptly to snap himself out of the semi-daze his friend had put him into.  He coughed awkwardly.  “Well thank ya, Vince.  I, uh, I sure hope to.”

Vincent tilted his head.  "Cid? Is something wrong?"  The pilot looked a little glazed over, probably too busy thinking about all he could do with the ship.  "Anyway, wasn't there something you wanted my help with?"  he asked, pushing away from the wall and leaning his hip against it instead.

Cid was staring again.  At Vincent's hips. _Yeah there's somethin' I need your help with all right,_ he thought, feeling about ready to crawl out of his skin.  His hands itched to rest on those narrow hips. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.  Cid cleared his throat again.  “Nah, I'm good.”  He said raggedly. _You literally have no idea how good ya look, do ya,_ he thought desperately.  “Ah hell!”  Cid blurted, plugging his cigarette in his mouth and scrubbing his face hard around it.  He had to turn away before he did something that would embarrass them both.  “I'm sorry Vince, I'm a little distracted.” _Understatement._   “Honestly, it c'n wait.  I don't wanna ask ya t' do anythin' y' don't wanna do.”   _Shit Cid! Shut up!_ This was going from bad to worse and Cid wanted face-plant in the dirt and cry.

Vincent's brow furrowed as he looked at Cid, wondering if he'd missed something.  "I don't mind helping," he assured the man.  "Anything you need, I'm your man."  That was something Cid would say, and it made Vincent a little proud that he'd thought to say it.  He might just be able to fit in here soon after all, if he kept trying.

Cid had to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep from blurting the first thing that came to his mind in reply to what Vincent said. _You probably wouldn't wanna do that, Vincent,_ he thought, propping his hands on his own hips and sighing deeply.  “I appreciate that, Vince,” he said hoarsely, finishing his cigarette and dropping it onto the ground.  He twisted his boot down onto the butt, grinding it into the dirt.  “I don't s'pose y' know how t' work a blowtorch, do ya?” Cid winced at the phrasing... again.

"I could learn," Vincent said. "You could teach me."  Vincent couldn't really claim to be a quick learner, but he was a dedicated one.  It might take him a few days to master a new simple skill, but with Cid's guidance, he was sure it would go smoothly.

“Yeah, I guess I c'n do that,” Cid said then paused when the image of Vincent catching that wealth of black hair on fire popped into his mind.  He winced again.  On second thought, maybe there were other tasks better suited for his friend.  “We don't need t' decide that now anyway,” Cid said, steeling himself and turning around to face Vincent again.  He dared several steps closer to his friend.  “I never asked ya, but, how're ya doin' Vincent?  People treatin' ya okay?  Are ya, y'know, happy?”

Clearly Cid didn't think Vincent would be capable of learning, but Vincent would just have to show him.  Cid should know better than anyone that Vincent possessed high accuracy, and surely that would make directing a flame easy work.  It couldn't be that hard anyway.

He was caught a little off-guard by the questions, blinking at Cid as the man came closer. "I like being here," he answered.  It was true, even if he couldn't necessarily name the reasons why.  "You and Shera are wonderful hosts."  He had interacted with other people only when necessary, so he wasn't sure which people Cid meant.

Cid's feet kept walking- step, step, step- until he stood right in front of Vincent.  Cid reached out and dared to place his hand on Vincent's bicep, squeezing gently.  “Yeah, but are ya _happy_ , Vincent?” He asked again.  Cid figured Vincent liked it in Rocket Town well enough else he would have left long ago.  He just couldn't bear to think of the possibility that Vincent was staying because his friend felt indebted to him.

Cid was touching him again.  He didn't do it incredibly frequently, but often enough lately for Vincent to notice.  Vincent looked down, trying to tuck his face into the collar of the cloak that was no longer there.  It had become more of a nervous habit than he had ever realized. "As happy as I have been in a very long time," he said, because that was the best answer he had.

“Good,” Cid said softly. “S' good, Vincent. I'm glad.”  He didn't remove his hand though.  It was almost as if he couldn't control it.  Cid watched as he stroked Vincent's arm with his thumb.   _I should let 'im go!_   he thought with mounting panic, but he didn't.  Instead, Cid took another, small step forward.  He watched, as though outside of his body, as his other hand came up unerringly to cup the side of Vincent's face.   _I need t' stop... need t' stop... need t' stop!_ Cid thought frantically, but his body simply did not want to respond.  It did let him let go of Vincent's arm though, only to mirror the hand that already rested against Vincent's smooth, pale cheek.  He thought his heart would explode, it was pounding so hard, until he turned Vincent's face up toward his.  When Cid met those brilliant red eyes with is own, the whole world seemed to stop and go completely silent.  All there was was Vincent.  He let his gaze travel over that cherished face, finally settling on Vincent's mouth.  Cid licked his lips, feathering a thumb under one of those incredible eyes.  “So good,” he whispered.

Cid's mannerisms had always been foreign to Vincent, and this time was no different.  The meaning seemed loud and clear, but nothing was ever so simple.  Vincent looked long and hard into Cid's eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them.  Slowly, he returned the touch with one hand on Cid's stubble-rough cheek, watching clear blue eyes and wondering what exactly he'd just communicated to Cid.

It was as though Vincent's touch sent an electric shock through his body.  Suddenly sounds came rushing back to him: distant birdsong, the breeze swirling about the building and lifting a loose corner of the metal roof to make it bang softly. _Oh God! What 'm I doin'!_   Cid thought in terror. This time, he was frozen in fear.  His instinct was to pull back fast, to put as much distance between himself and Vincent as possible without flat-out running away, screaming optional.

Instead, Cid somehow managed to pull his hands back and step away from Vincent's touch.  He should have known better!  Vincent would never welcome that kind of advance!  “I'm sorry Vincent,” Cid pleaded. “I- I crossed a line there, didn't I?”

Cid made no sense.  Vincent fought with disappointment as the man pulled away. "People aren't made from straight lines, Cid," he said simply, not fighting to bring Cid back but not moving further away either.  "If you're going to do something, do what you mean, and you won't ever need to be apologetic."  He turned his face away, exhaling slowly.  Part of him was beginning to wonder if this was the only reason Cid had invited him here, or if he had actually never been invited at all.  "Would you like me to leave?"

“What? _No_!” Cid shouted, feeling a resurgence of his panic from before.  “I mean, I mean...” He looked momentarily lost, face flushing in frustration.  Rubbing the back of his neck again, he finally said reluctantly, “But I don't want'cha t' stay if yer not happy, Vince. I want'cha t' stay 'cause you _wanna_ stay, not 'cause ya think y' own me 'r anythin'.”  This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for Cid, and a small part of him wanted Vincent to go, thinking this arrangement was one big mistake.

Vincent took a seat on an overturned bucket nearby, mildly watching Cid.  He shrugged.  "I paid my debts. I dropped my past. I don't owe anything to anyone."  He wasn't sure how much longer he would want to stay, but Rocket Town and Cid's company had always been pleasant to Vincent.  He didn't know how much more clearly he could say that he didn't mind Cid or his tendency to desire closeness. "If I wanted to leave, you would never find me."

“I know,” Cid grumbled and walked over to another barrel to mimic Vincent's position.  He sighed and let his shoulders slump, his head hanging down.  “Believe me, I know.” Cid was twisted up inside. Confusion warred with desire, happiness fought with frustration and sorrow.  “Spent more 'n one damn day scared t' death 'cause you up 'n disappeared without tellin' anyone, ya dummy.  Or d' you even care 'bout that?” _D' you even care about anything?_   Cid thought a little bitterly.  He rubbed his face with a work-roughened hand.  “Look, I'm sorry f'what I just did, Vincent. I shouldn't'a done it 'n I won't let it happ'n again, all right?”

"I didn't ask you to be sorry," Vincent said quietly, standing when Cid sat and feeling a familiar restlessness slide into his soul.  "I didn't ask you to let me go."  But Cid must have come to his senses, if he had wanted to be away, if he already regretted it so very much.  "You're the only friend I've ever had, Cid. Will you be sorry about that, too?"

Cid looked up and over at Vincent, shocked that Vincent could say that and said as much.  “How c'n ya say that, Vince? After all we've been through? Is that why y' think I apologized?”

Vincent didn't answer.  The two of them wouldn't be able to understand each other this way, and the only other way he knew was likely to upset Cid.  He stood where he was for a few long moments, and then headed toward the door.  He stopped in front of Cid on the way and bent low, pressing the faintest of kisses to Cid's lips before moving on and exiting the building.  Let him regret that.

Once again, Cid was unable to move.  He was completely stunned.  He stared after Vincent, lips still tingling from where Vincent had kissed him.  Absently, Cid raised his fingers to his lips.   _What th' hell was that?_   he thought, blinking.  Did he dare to hope that Vincent might feel the same way?  How could you bluff _that_?  Cid felt fairly confident that Vincent was incapable of leading someone on, so that had to be it, right?  There was only one way to find out.  Rising to his feet, Cid hitched up his pants, muttered, “Fuck it,” to himself and followed after Vincent.  He caught up with his friend before the gunman was outside the doors of the hangar.

He grabbed Vincent's shoulder, spun the man around and took the ex-Turk's face in his hands before pressing his lips firmly against Vincent's.  It wasn't a passionate kiss, but neither was it chaste, and Cid dragged it out for as long as he dared before slowly pulling away and watching Vincent's face for any expression that might cross its delicate features.

Vincent smiled into the kiss and kept smiling after, just a small twisting of his lips that most people wouldn't even notice.  This was the Cid he remembered, the one with that blaze of determination who didn't shy away from what he wanted.  This was the man he had come back to see, the one who followed him around the planet even if only with his voice sometimes.

He let one hand rest casually on Cid's waist.  "If you tell me you're sorry again, I'm taking you to the hospital."


End file.
